Welcome to Sunnyville
by Malaryush
Summary: Complete insanity in a massive crossover; proper grammar, spell-checking, and a pseudo-plot included. Nonsensical violence, and naughty language. Complete oddness abounds. Fixed up, and with a new chapter! (Nov/4)
1. Welcome to Sunnyville

  


• Chapter 1 •   
• "Welcome to Sunnyville" • 

  
Welcome, everyone. Welcome to my insanity. Meow.  
Here lies a crossover of ridiculous proportions, just because I can do it. Perhaps not well, but I most certainly _can _do it.   
This was an idea that came to me about a year ago. I originally thought it should be done as a doujinshi (fan comic, that is.) Alas, I have the artistic capabilities of an armless squid left in the gutter overnight outside a bar in a college town in midsummer that...uh...well... Okay.   
I came across Fanfiction.net a while ago, and reveled in the madness of so many other writers, and this idea came back to haunt me once more. I wasn't sure if I'd go ahead with it, but moments ago, in a typical display of dexterity and grace, I hit my head. Hard. Very hard. And for now, I feel nothing. So I start.   
I've pulled a number of my favourite characters from all walks of fiction; I'll probably give a guide at the end, in case some are unfamiliar to you. Sadly, I don't own any of them. They all belong to their respective creators, and/or the people the creators sold their souls to. I'm not even making any money off this. (But under-the-table donations and bribes are certainly more than welcome.) Suing me won't earn much, as I'm more than a little in debt already. (read: I gots no money.)  
Read this story. Love it. Love me. Make love to me, Snake. Oh, and please give me feedback. (And forgive me for being so gosh-darned long-winded.)  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
The villainous swordsman walked down the well-lit hall at Sunnyville Institute, hooves clipping on the white, tiled floors. The name of the place was enough to give the demonic being a case of hives, and the overpowering smell of Lemon Pinesol masquing a scent like urine was hardly refreshing. Moreso, he felt ill at ease without his assortment of swords; he had to admit, though, it was extraordinarily easier to walk about without a few hundred pounds of tempered steel suspended from his back.   
  
He'd initially been surprised at how unimpressed the blonde, pig-tailed receptionist had been when he'd unloaded the swords beside the little swinging door that separated her cubicle from the waiting room. Of course, that was before he'd taken a glance to the room behind her, where lay collected more weapons than he'd ever seen in one place at one time (putting to shame his own rather daunting collection.) Swords of all shapes and sizes, whips, chains, pikes, knives, brass knuckles, ping pong paddles, N'Sync CDs, and various other instruments of pain were strewn about the room in neat little piles. Beside one stack--which consisted of various knives, throwing stars, shivs, and a few conspicuously out-of-place scrolls--a dog resembling a Doberman was snoozing, acknowledging Guitar's curious glance with nothing more than a simple ear-flick.   
  
The receptionist, not bothering to remove a chocolate bar from her mouth, had given him a small grunt and handed him a slip of paper, smudged at the top with a chocolate fingerprint. With that, she had snapped her fingers, summoning a scowling, dark-haired girl to carry his swords into the back room. The two had promptly started arguing over the division of responsibilities, matters of laziness, homework, and who had eaten the last of the box of Kix, and he'd taken that as his cue to depart.  
  
That was only moments before. Now, Guitar navigated the Institute's halls. White halls. White halls, with white tiled floors, white ceiling overhead, and glaring white lights shining down on his double-dog form. He felt sick. Of course, the flourescent lightbulbs were flickering, as they are wont to do, adding a sense of vertigo that did nothing to help his nausea.  
  
The swordsman. . . (The term "man" is used only out of convenience. Guitar, of course, was really a Mazoku. [The Evil Race, Demons, or Naughty Peoples, if you will.] One of the four great Kings of Hell, at that. Regardless, his appearance was much more like an anthropomorphic dog in a suit of golden armour; from the waist up, that is. Waist-down, he's another dog. But he would kindly ask you not to point and stare, because it's just really not polite.) . . .reached for a pocket, before remembering that, as he wore no pants, he had no pockets. Bother. The note he looked for was instead retrieved from beneath the golden bracer on his left arm. He carefully unfolded the smudged sheet of paper he'd received from the receptionist moments ago.  
  
'_Room Tulip,_' the demon king read to himself. Now was left to him the matter of figuring out where the bloody hell this "Room Tulip" was. With a glance to a nearby room, he was able to place himself as five feet down from the dubiously-named "Room Peony." Guitar steeled himself against the immediate urge to turn around and go home to Hameln, knowing full well that to do so was to face something much worse than the wrath of Bass. For to leave now. . . meant no choice but to head instead to the unemployment office. Curse Watanabe for ending the series so soon. . . And he didn't even want to _think _of how that job had ended.   
  
According to his agent, his only choice now was to enroll into group therapy, get reformed, and try to find respectable work in the Real World. He'd steadfastly refused, until his agent had threatened him with the prospect of being known as "Swordog" and spending his days and nights in some red and white ball, only being called out to get into mock-fights with sickeningly cute creatures with names like "Jigglypuff" and "Charizard." With this in mind, it had taken him mere seconds to fill out the paperwork.  
  
Breaking from his reverie, Guitar shook his head and continued down the repulsively white halls in search of the elusive "Tulip." A short stroll took him past "Peony," then past rooms "Daisy," and "Rose."  
  
"Perfect..." Guitar muttered to himself. Naturally, the rooms couldn't be in alphabetical order. If they were going to be logical, they could've just used numbers, or letters. The hotel down the street had estate rooms named after U.S. Presidents (whatever _those _were,) but not this place. No, they had to be flowers; it was only fitting of a place with as hateful a name as "Sunnyville." As he continued down the hall, Guitar mused on how much more colourful things would be if he were to deposit the contents of his stomach on the floor. This lead inevitably to the question of just _where _his stomach was, a matter of which even Guitar wasn't quite sure.  
  
"Uwee hee hee hee!" The demented cackle broke Guitar from his thoughts only moments before a tall blonde in a straight jacket hurtled out of a door marked "Room Lilac." The man, face painted bright red, thrashed about while bouncing down the hall, paying no heed to the surprised dog-creature paralyzed in his path. He was immediately pursued by a few unremarkable-looking men in long, white coats, who tackled the clown to the ground and began dragging him back to the room.  
  
Guitar glanced, wide-eyed, between the escapee--who was thrashing his head back and forth, further damaging his plumed hairpin, and who had yet to stop making that horrible sound--and the door to the room, where another inmate was watching the antics with glee. This other inmate was similarly attired in a straight jacket, its face completely concealed by bandages save for one glowing, red eye, and a few strands of black hair which fountained upward from the top of his head. Moments after it all began, the two were dragged back into the room, and the door shut with a resounding slam.   
  
Silence.  
  
Guitar gaped at the door, left eye twitching violently and sweat beading on his forehead. He had a feeling this was going to be a very, very long night.  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Well, that's it for the first chapter. I do hope you enjoyed it. It's going to get quite a bit stranger as it goes on. I realize I'm not so much funny as just really weird, but I hope it's at least somewhat enjoyable anyway. There are several more chapters available, and I hope to finish it eventually.  
  
Please be kind, and leave some feedback. Reviews would be much appreciated; if you've got a lot to say, feel free to leave a review or e-mail me to let me know. This is my first ever attempt at fanfiction, and I don't have any beta-readers (yet--let me know if you'd like to be one ^-^) so I won't know what I'm doing right/wrong without a little help.  
  
Now let's have a party--there's a full moon in the sky,   
it's the hour of the wolf, and we're all gonna die. 


	2. Complete Control

  


• Chapter 2 •   
• "Complete Control" • 

  
And now for the second chapter of this little bit of messed-up-ness. More special guest appearances, and a little bit of violence. Just a touch; we're not up to the bloodshed yet. (*sniff*)  
It's starting to come along, although there's still a ways to go before this ride's over.. ^_^;; As always, feedback would be most appreciated. In case you didn't catch on earlier...this is my first attempt at fanfiction, so encouragement and/or suggestions would be great. Oh, and before I forget, allow me to disclaim: I own none of these characters. Everybody belongs to somebody. But not me. All I own are my sick, twisted fantasies. And those don't make me any money. What's wrong with this world?  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Guitar stared a moment longer at the door to "Room Lilac," the horrified expression on his face betraying a fear that the door might at any moment explode open once more, giving way to the demented, cackling creatures within. Even greater, Guitar feared that people actually thought he belonged in a place with these nutcases. Even Orgel wasn't as big a crackpot as the two he'd just seen. And that was saying quite a lot.  
  
Guitar huffed slightly. He was a creature of dignity and intelligence, not some raving lunatic. Could the room he was headed for, that despicable "Tulip," be the same as that "Lilac" room? Dread overtook Guitar as he quickly moved down the hall. The Mazoku king had no intention of walking unwittingly into certain doom; in such a situation as this, further scouting was required. As stealthily as he was able (his hooves made the loudest racket on the tiled floors) he made his way to the next room down the hall. For now, he was pleased to find that it was not his "Tulip," but a room labeled "Tiger Lily."  
  
Carefully, he eased the door open, pleased that not the slightest creak was made. While most swordsmen of note were lacking in the brains department, Guitar prided himself on his cunning, and in generally being an incorrigible sneak. Years of spying on the actions and conversations of his fellow Kings of Hell had given him a talent for such measures, as well a little too much knowledge on some of Bass's secret hobbies. No, now was certainly not the time to think about that night with the Jello, Moon Pies, and the thong. . .  
  
As a matter of fact, there wasn't ever a good time to think about that.  
  
Sticking his slim, canine face through the partly opened door, he was able to observe a small group of people seated in a half-circle; they were facing a pale, short-haired young woman with a clipboard. The girl seemed to be in charge, and sat beneath a poster with the words "Anger Management" written in yellow highlighter, and decorated with glittery stars.  
  
Guitar's relief to note that the walls were not, in fact, padded, was rather dampened by the fact that they were instead adorned with a crudely painted mural depicting flowers, romping children, and a sun bearing a happy smile. He took a moment to consider how un-spy-like it would be to wretch on the floor, then distracted himself by listening in on the conversation at hand.  
  
"...just get really frustrated, sometimes. That's all. I really...don't need to be here," muttered a man in a pale cloak and cloth mask, seated at the immediate left of the girl. He was fiddling with a red ink pen, and staring off in the direction of a gaudily painted, smiling daisy. "I'm perfectly in control of myself."  
  
"We all like to think that we're in control, Mr. Greywords." The girl with short, blue hair gave him a small, ingenuine smile, her red eyes lifeless. "Sometimes, we need a little help. We need to release control, and just let things flow."  
  
"Bullshit..."   
  
"Mr. Vegeta, I think Mr. Greywords still has the 'Special Pen.' Why don't we let him finish?"  
  
"I told you, I am finished."  
  
"This is a ridiculous waste of time. I could be...I could be....training, fighting. . ._anything_. Anything would be better than this!" The short, stocky man snarled, shaking his head furiously. Guitar was impressed to note that his impossibly angled hair wavered not once. A green-skinned fellow in a turban, seated beside the loudmouth, simply hunched down farther in his seat, sweat pouring down the side of his head.   
  
"Umm...Can I talk, now?" The voice came from the side opposite this Mr. Greywords, directly to the right of the counselor.  
  
"Mr. Greywords still has the.."  
  
"But I want to talk!"  
  
"You need to wait your.."  
  
"Take the cursed thing." The cloaked man irritably tossed the red pen at the speaker, who squealed with glee.  
  
"Yay!" The boy, dressed in a blue shirt and tight shorts, clutched the pen gleefully, completely forgetting his desire to speak.  
  
"Now, Mr. Greywords, you shouldn't throw things. You could put an eye out like that." The girl looked to the clipboard, and hastily scribbled a note.  
  
The green-skinned man continued to sweat, eyes clamped shut. Beside him was seated a young man who was decked out in Spartan-styled armour in a tasteful silver tone, and accompanied by a long red cloak. Guitar gave an approving nod, glad to see he wasn't the only one around with a bit of sense. The front of the warrior's helm was adorned with a noble lion. Guitar was proud to note, though, that this poor sap didn't get a _plume_.  
  
Between the armoured chap and the pen-clutching lad on the far end remained one last figure. This last man had his back to Guitar, and seemed to be hunched into a ball. Guitar could make out the short, black coat the man was wearing, with a crescent moon on the back, and one knee, clothed in red. He twitched and jerked every so often, but remained quiet.  
  
"I'll destroy everything...all of it, gone! Everything will die!" The dark-haired boy, who looked no older than eight, giggled gleefully, hugging the pen to his cheek.  
  
"Now, now. . . Mr. . ." the counselor glanced down at her clipboard. "Mr. Phibrizzo, aren't there better ways you could be expressing your creativity? Would you like to try finger painting?"  
  
The boy's eyes locked on to the finger paint set the woman produced from a bag beside her chair, and a sliver of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Forgetting the pen entirely, he reached out with shaking hands to accept the prize. The pen clattered to the tiled floor in front of the hunched figure beside Phibrizzo. The figure shuddered slightly, but made no move to pick it up.  
  
The counselor glanced to the fallen symbol, then to the vacant-looking young man in silver armour. "Mr. Chariot, would you like to pick up the pen? You haven't had a turn yet, have you?"  
  
"Who eats such a thing?"  
  
Five sets of eyes, including Guitar's own, locked onto the warrior and a pall fell over the room. Phibrezzo remained absorbed with the finger paint set, while the man with the crescent moon coat continued to twitch and shudder, oblivious to the goings on.  
  
". . . ."  
  
". . . ."  
  
". . . Mr. Chariot..?" The counselor regained her ingenuine smile. "I was asking you to _pick up_ the pen.."  
  
"Do you want to fight?" The challenge was issued with cheerful enthusiasm. Guitar immediately rescinded his earlier approval. It would seem that smashing fashion sense did not always reflect psychological stability.  
  
"Fi~nished!" Phibrizzo crowed proudly, holding up a picture of himself surrounded by dark energy, standing over a red-haired girl; an assortment of knives were sticking out from the girl's body. Behind the pair loomed a crude globe with oceans of a cheerful scarlet shade. An arrow pointed to the oceans, conveniently labeling them "Blood."  
  
"This is ridiculous. Who let these blathering fools out of their cages? There's no reason I should be stuck in such a place! This is demeaning!"  
  
"I've been saying that since the beginning.." Greywords muttered to the pointy-haired whiner.  
  
"Feh.. I could destory this entire building with a wave of a finger. You should all bow down and thank your gods that I'm being forced to tolerate this rubbish by court order!" The short man leapt to his feet, fists raised in impotent fury.  
  
"Mr. Vegeta, will you please sit down? You don't have the pen, and so.."  
  
"I don't give a good god damn about your pen, peasant! If I have to be here, I should at least be allowed to speak whenever I wish. Hell,_ I_ should be leading this meeting!" Beside Vegeta, the green-skinned man continued to sweat in silence.  
  
"**_GRHAARHGAFARHAGHAAH_**!"  
  
Even the pointy, pint-sized prince paled at the unexpected outburst. Phibrizzo squealed in surprise as the man beside him leapt to his feet, holding aloft a small stuffed doll. The counselor rose to her feet, eyes as impassive as the brown-haired doll which, Guitar observed, wore a shirt with a blazing sun on the back. He was also finally able to get a good view of this last member; the black coat was worn over a long white dress shirt and red jeans which, for some ridiculous reason, were tied together at the knees. A shock of spiky crimson hair hung over wide, wild eyes. Saliva dripped from the sides of his mouth and he chuffed steam with each breath; even now that he'd risen, he remained doubled over as if in pain.  
  
"Mr. Yagami, would you please take your seat?"  
  
The red-haired man opted not to follow the order, and instead began chewing on Phibrizzo's head.  
  
"Kids should exercise....everyday..." breathed Chariot, who quickly abandoned his seat and hid beside the pointy-eared green fellow.  
  
Guitar stared with disbelief, a heavy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Before his eyes, the room descended into chaos: Phibrizzo ran circles around the room, screeching; the drooling red-head remained firmly attached, gnawing and howling, and generally making a slobbery mess of the diminutive Hellmaster's hair; some sort of shouting match had started between Vegeta and the caped lad beside him--Guitar couldn't make out much of it over the screaming and howling; the green-skinned man made a choking sound and lurched from his chair, clutching at his chest.  
  
With a gulp, Guitar slowly withdrew his head from the door. The last thing he heard before the door snapped shut was the sound of the counselor's calm voice.  
  
"Why don't we all sit down and hold hands?"  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
And there you have it.. End Chapter 2. Should I continue? Well, I probably will, regardless. But would you like me to? My speed will probably depend on whether or not anybody out there actually wants to see more. ^_^;; Remember, if you don't have anything nice to say...at least give me a good reason. I can't get any better without a little advice.  
  
More pointless crossings-over to come, with a lot more guest stars from all spectrums, and some special cameo appearances. I swear, I'll try to learn how to be funny.   
  
For now, I leave you with this bit of wisdom:  
"Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk from the guy punching himself in the shoulder?" 


	3. Perspiration, Inspiration, Determination

  


• Chapter 3 •   
• "Inspiration, Perspiration, Determination" • 

  
A rather nasty headache prevents me from doing anything useful now, and since I can't even sleep with all the screeching and yammering from downstairs, it's time for another chapter!   
This I doth disclaim: I own none of the characters in this story, don't pretend to own them, but just might wish I owned them. If want to sue me for that, I'm afraid you won't get much. However, if you'd like to trade one of these characters for one of my kidneys, I just might be your lady. Call me. Kissies.  
More random nonsense for everyone. Eat up. And don't forget your brussel sprouts.  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Sweat was pouring down the side of Guitar's face, and his left eye had developed quite a nasty twitch. Things were, quite possibly, worse than he could've imagined.   
  
_'How could I have let my agent talk me into this? What in the world is so wrong with little red and white balls? I hear they're quite cozy, really....sort of. Well, I've seen the people they hired at that burger place down the road. I bet I could get a job there, ne. They could call me "The Normal One." It's not like I'm really doomed if I don't stay here, ne? I could just turn around...and...'  
  
_"Shdppthwhnnanprshhvrr!" The voice broke Guitar from his thoughts. He glanced up and down the halls frantically, to locate the speaker, and perhaps disembowel them. It was only after he calmed himself a bit that he realized the voice was actually _quite _familiar... *  
  
A short figure in long robes stepped forward, as if from thin air. His head was bowed down, and he walked with the slow, shuffling gait of one quite advanced in years. Moreover, he was surrounded by a slight blue haze which strengthened around his visible edges. And he carried a hoe.  
  
"Obi-wan..?" Guitar raised a brow, stepping forward.  
  
"Nnmmnddhim! Shmmm, Tshutshumi!" The figure shook a fist at Guitar's nose then pulled back its cowl, revealing a gaunt, aged face; long front teeth were visible even with his mouth closed. Wisps of white hair remained on the sides of his head, but the top was barren.  
  
"Oh, Tsutsumi. I should've known it was you." Guitar shook his head, circling the glowing man slowly. "You know, those blue screen effects look terrible."  
  
"Wddjyagnndo? Igshklltnnwthwnwshtbjjtonnmm." The old man shook his head and sighed.  
  
"Ah, yes, I know how that is. . ." Guitar placed one hand beneath his chin. "They kill you off and then act as if they never knew you. No retirement benefits, no pension plan, no insurance. They won't even answer my calls."  
  
"Yhhnwwyumnn. Btthshnwhmhrr." Tsutsumi raised an index finger to emphasize his point. "Mmhrrtormnndjyowyukmrr. Ymmshtrmmmbr. . .yrrnshhmtrnndpt. Yrrnshhmfssfdgnn. Yrrbggy!"  
  
Guitar took a moment to let this sink in, before lowering his head in shame. "You're right.. You're right."  
  
"Kpptrngg! Nnrmmmr. . .Yrrvlln." Tsutsumi bowed his head once more, pulling the cowl back over his head.  
  
Guitar half-bowed. (A full bow was just too awkward, and he reserved those for special occasions.) "Thank you, Tsutsumi. You've brought me back to my senses. . . I shall not allow myself to be so easily perturbed in the future." The demon fought back a little sniffle as he looked at the old figure, who had already started to fade. "You'll be watching me, ne?"  
  
"Yrrllthngicldeshcpthshhfk?" The old man left Guitar with this mysterious remark, then faded away. With the hoe. Guitar rather wished he'd left him with the potential weapon. He wouldn't give up, he would work on toward a better future. But he still really wished he had a weapon.  
  
With bolstered spirits, Guitar continued down the hall. He would complete this ridiculous mission, fulfill the contract he'd signed, and then he'd be back in action. Back in the job pool. Trotting down the hall in search of his Tulip, he forced away the recurring thought that kept nagging at the back of his mind: _Even if I am certified 'reformed,' what kind of jobs are really out there for a Mazoku dog-with-a-dog-for-legs?_  
  
As he continued on his way, the Warrior King noticed a man standing in the hallway. He wasn't wearing a straight-jacket, and no one seemed to be chasing him down. He wasn't shouting or breaking things--as a matter of fact, he seemed to be sweeping the floor. A hospital employee. Excellent. This man must certainly know where "Room Tulip" was located. This would expedite matters nicely.  
  
"Pardon me, sir. . ." Guitar smiled cordially. He tried, anyway. When one has a mouthful of sharp fangs, smiles always come across a little oddly. "I imagine you know this building rather well, ne. . ?"  
  
The broom-wielding man said nothing. He simply continued his sweeping, chewing quietly on a stick of gum.  
  
Guitar cleared his throat noisily, and stepped closer in the hopes of gaining the janitor's attention. He hadn't noticed quite how large the fellow was from far away. Guitar found himself wishing he had a weapon, again. It is always much easier to intimidate people when one has a sword to back oneself up with. Especially when the person you want to intimidate is so darned **big**. Drawing himself up to his full height (which was not especially impressive. . . he was _a dog_ after all,) he pressed on. "I said, you must know this building well, ne. . ? I'm looking for a room."  
  
". . ." The broom-wielding man continued to sweep, a strand of dark hair falling down across his red cheek.  
  
"This isn't going to get me anywhere, is it?" Guitar gave the man a good poke in the arm with an index finger. Still, no reaction. With a sigh and a shrug, the Mazoku gave up on this plan of action. Back to Plan 1: Wander around until stumbling upon the room.  
  
Turning from the silent sweeper, Guitar continued on his way. He intended to, anyhow. He made it three steps before. . .  
  
"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"  
  
It had come from behind one of the doors just ahead. Now, while Guitar had slaughtered enough villagers in his time to grow accustomed to the sound of screams--they were practically a lullaby--this particular shriek sent a shiver down his spine. For the second time in the past fifteen minutes, he found himself quite certain he _recognized _that voice. It certainly wasn't Tsutsumi, this time. Far too coherent for that. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he couldn't shake the feeling he knew that voice. And something about it made him nervous. . .  
  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
Footnote:   
* = Matsuyama Takashi provides the voice for both Tsutsumi and TV anime's Guitar in addition to making me a bit weak in the knees. _Swoon_.  
  
As I was writing, I noticed that some of the characters aren't really obvious. Others are out-and-out named. I don't really make a point to do one or the other with a character. . . If the story warrants that the character be addressed by name, so be it. I'm writing on a limited third person perspective, so the narration is restricted to what our main character (my dearly beloved Guitar) is aware of. I try to give enough hints that if one's familiar with the character, then one should be able to figure out who they are.  
As I was going along, I wondered...since I'm drawing from all walks of fiction (and even a bit of nonfiction) that I'm familiar with, how many of these people is my _audience _familiar with? This lead me to the bad idea of a contest: when the fiction is over, who can name the most characters I used? Lack of interest expressed during the fic's initial stay on FF.net lead me to realize what a stupid idea it was in the first place. If anyone is actually interested in me bringing back the idea, you're welcome to let me know, and I could reopen it. But I doubt that'll happen.  
Keep in mind that *everyone* who shows up is *someone.* I'm using no original characters, whatsoever. Even background folks. Some are more obscure, and some are harder than others. As such, once the story is over, I'll be posting up a list of who is who. In the meantime, you're welcome to try and figure it out yourself. Be proud. Of course, for those characters that return, some of them will get more obvious later on..  
  
Please, be kind...read and review! I wants some feedback! ;.; 


	4. It's A Wonderful Life

  


• Chapter 4 •   
• "It's a Wonderful Life" • 

  
Shucks..I'm just at a loss for much to say..  
Oh, lest I forget.. I figured, since Guitar's the main character and all, it'd probably be helpful for my readers to have a good mental image of him, yes? I realize he's a bit more obscure than some and so a good portion of my audience won't know him.   
For images of Guitar, you can check my webpage. I had to take the link down, as it seemed it was throwing off the formatting..   
And, while I own all those cels of him, I don't own Guitar himself, or any of the other characters in the story. As always, This Story = No Money For Mala's Pockets.   
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
  
Life is funny. One day, you're king of the world (or a King of Hell, as it were.) The next, you find yourself wandering around a loony bin. Yeah. . . that's life. Life is about changes. And youth is all about intestines.  
  
Guitar knew full well that he'd be doomed in the real world. He was a villain, and he was good at killing things. He couldn't very well get a desk job--he couldn't really sit in a chair. He didn't have many marketable talents, beyond scheming and slaughtering. No, he needed another manga acting gig. And to do that, it seemed he had to suffer through a little indignity first.  
  
He was prepared to suffer a little. On the other hand, he wasn't so willing to get the bejeezus scared out of him. Not that he had much choice in the matter. Moments before, a blood-curdling scream had torn through the air, and something in his mind had clicked. Now was the choice. Go investigate this, or keep walking and pretend it never happened?  
  
Beyond chopping people into meaty chunks, Guitar also had a knack for planning ahead. Being the weakest of Hell's four greatest generals, Guitar had learned how to look out for himself. He tried never to act without a plan. And a back-up plan. Of course, in case that back-up plan was to fail, it's best to have a back-up-back-up. So on and so forth. Upon hearing he was going to a place named "Sunnyville," his gut told him that he should be careful. While he'd hardly expected any of this, he _had _arrived an hour early, to be better prepared. As always, it seemed his precautions were made necessary.  
  
Steeling his nerves, Guitar headed forward to investigate, having no doubt in his mind that he would once again witness chaos and insanity. Though he found himself gripped with an unidentifiable fear, he wanted to be fully prepared when the time came for his own session. The Mazoku general took a deep breath as he stood before the door to room "Marigold," the room from which the aforementioned scream had emitted. He ducked low to the ground, and opened the door with practiced stealth.  
  
". . .and now she won't even return my calls. . .after all that!" The conversation seemed to be well under way, and a sniffling man in intricate black armour had the floor. Long, black hair was disheveled under a black headress decorated with purple gemstones. His cheeks were shiny, and his eyes puffy. It seemed he'd been crying for a while. "We went through so much together, you know..?"  
  
The blue-haired counselor nodded, offering a slight smile. "Yes, it sounds like you did a great deal for her." She spoke in a disinterested tone, red eyes showing no sign of emotions.   
  
_'Same short, blue hair and red eyes. . . Same voice. Same face, even. . .'_ Guitar peered closely at the counselor a moment longer before concluding that she was the exact image of the counselor from the anger management session.  
  
Another man, seated beside the first, nodded sympathetically. "Indeed, love is most cruel. I, too, had a woman in my life. We were both so involved in our work, I had no chance to truly appreciate her until it was too late." Like the other man, he was dressed in black armour. His was simpler, and he wore nothing to cover his long, black hair.  
  
"You must not let past experiences sour you on the world. Life is nice. People are nice." The woman sounded as if she were reading lines off some unseen cue-card. "You shouldn't give up on life."  
  
_'What is this, suicide prevention?' _ Guitar mused. He scanned the room; he wasn't especially interested in these miserable humans, but he hoped to solve the mystery of that familar scream. He quickly noticed a pattern in his observations.  
  
On the side closest to him was seated a large man in full armour, all black. He wore a medieval-styled helmet with a flowing black plume. Not a chink of flesh was visible beneath the large man's trappings. Beside him was the first love-lorn speaker, and then his sympathetic comrade. Beyond them was seated yet another warrior in black armour. He wore a bucket-shaped helmet; he too was completely concealed, aside from glowing red eyes. Next in line was a ninja with a horned helmet. He looked bored, and his clothes were, of course, black. After him came an empty seat. On the far side was yet another man in black armour. His was a bit different, with a button-covered panel on his chest, and an unusually styled helmet, but still painfully similar in monotone of his clothing. Indeed, everyone gathered wore black.   
  
"I thought we'd always be together. . ." The original speaker broke down into sobs, burying his face in his hands.  
  
"Come on, Zagato. She's young, just give her some time. She may come back to you, yet. At least. . . at least you still have a chance." The man behind him turned his face away, closing his eyes. To the side, the ninja made a gagging noise. The fellow on the farthest side was staring at a pastel pink and blue wall, every breath making a loud wheezing sound.  
  
"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" There it was, _the scream_. "I can't take this any more! I'm gonna go insane!" The voice came from behind the one vacant chair, a place obscured from Guitar's line of sight. Once he heard the voice, however, he didn't need to see the speaker. There was no doubt in his mind as to the identity.  
  
Vocal leapt to his feet, the bat-like wings on his head extended. He was gnawing furiously on the chain that connected his wrist to a large weighted ball. His trademark tight-fitting black leather get-up made him blend well with his company. Guitar suppressed an immediate urge to flee at the sight of the berserker Mazoku. They hadn't been on very good terms, especially after a certain _incident_.  
  
"You obnoxious, whiny jerks! Why can't you just shut up and die, DIE, **DIE**!" Vocal's eyes rolled back and he frothed at the mouth, gnawing ever more furiously at his chain until he finally collapsed behind the chair once more in a snarling heap.  
  
Zagato sniffled softly and blew his nose on a portion of his cape. The man beside him glowered in Vocal's direction. "You're hurting his feelings. Have you no kindness?"  
  
This elicited only a wretching sound, followed by more growling and gnawing. Beside Vocal's empty chair, the ninja shook his head.  
  
"You should listen to Mr. Ashram. We should always be considerate of others' feelings. You seem to have trouble dealing with others, Mr. Vocal. Do you feel threatened? Do you feel the need to lash out at others due to your own insecurities?" The counselor cocked her head to the side, looking in Vocal's directions.  
  
"Dumb broad. . ."  
  
"You should not insult a lady." The deep voice came from the knight with glowing red eyes. He shifted in his seat to face the skinny, leather-clad Mazoku.  
  
"Yeah? I don't see no lady nowhere. I just see that dumb broad who don't know what she's talkin' about." Vocal stuck his tongue out at the knight, then returned to his sulking. Guitar supposed Bass had threatened the Criminal into being on his best behaviour. Of course, since 'best behaviour' was relatively speaking, that still didn't rule out bloodshed.  
  
"That's very kind of you to defend me. . . Mr. Soth, is it? But there's really no need. It's best not to increase his animosity." The girl inclined her head, then looked back to Zagato, who was sobbing onto Ashram's shoulder.  
  
"It is no trouble, m'lady."   
  
"Still.."  
  
"Might I inquire as to your phone number?"  
  
"That's. . . really not orthodox."  
  
"Would you like to come over to my castle some time?" The knight was in the process of scooting his chair closer to the blue-haired young lady. "You possess. . . great strength. You are quite brave to be so unperturbed in such a situation as this. I would like to show you my sword collection."  
  
"Guh. . . What an idiot . ." Vocal muttered, sneering at the knight, then peeked over the quiet ninja's shoulder. "Why doesn't he just grab her and do 'er if he really wants to bother?" The ninja shrugged noncommittally in response.  
  
The man closest to the door, as of yet silent, kept glancing toward the clock. The wheezing man on the far side was counting to ten, one hand placed to the side of his helmet and the other balled into a fist.  
  
"Hey...uh...you." Vocal lowered his voice, poking the ninja from behind. Guitar was just barely able to make out his words. "You're supposed to be good at fightin' without weapons, right? Sneaky-like, right? Why don'tcha kill those two whiny boys over there and make this stupid thing a lot more peaceful?"  
  
The ninja took a moment to consider. "Do you have any money? I don't work for free."  
  
Vocal pouted. "I was just suggestin'. . . I wasn't hirin' you or nothin'."  
  
"In other words, you're broke." This prompted Vocal to return to pouting.  
  
"May I be excused?" The one on the far side of the room raised a hand, dragging the counselor's attention from the persistant knight, who had already wheedled her out of her number, and seemed to be aiming for her skirt next.  
  
"Mr. Vader, the session is barely half-over. And you haven't even spoken up, yet."   
  
"I have been quite inspired by your presence. I am a new man. I would like to be excused, that I may go out and plant some flowers." The deep-voiced man's annoyed tone was distinctly less than convincing. "And. . . purchase a kitten."  
  
The counselor gave an approving nod. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'm pleased that you've decided to overcome your feelings of anguish and rejoin society as a better person. Why don't you stay here, and help the others see the error of their ways?"  
  
Guitar shook his head. He hadn't really expected the counselor to buy his act, but it seemed the ruse had backfired instead. The fellow didn't seem to be taking it very well, either. After a string of curses under his (rather noisy) breath, the man regained his self control. Or so it seemed. Raising a gloved hand, he held up his thumb and index finger as if to pinch the air, and slowly closed them. Guitar was only more convinced that the median sanity level was nestled snugly in the dirt. That is, until the counselor began to choke and clutch at her throat.  
  
"Stop that at once!" Soth rose to his feet and moved in close to the attacker. "She gave me her phone number. You will desist immediately!" After a few tense moments, Vader complied, and the young counselor gasped for air.  
  
The conflict only set Zagato to crying again, and even Ashram was shaking his head in disgust. Vocal laughed maniacally at the counselor, who still looked a touch dizzy. The ninja took notes, and the silent man in the plumed helmet had fallen asleep.  
  
Guitar had seen more than enough, carefully closing the door behind him as he left. Such a complete waste of natural resources. '_I wonder if I could get Bass to teach me that 'Bloody Death Eater' trick. . .?'_  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Ee, I guess this chapter was a little odd. It was just an odd little thing that came into my head, inspired by run-ins with people who assume that everyone in black must be a "Depressed Goth" who'll eventually take a gun to school. ^_^;;   
And remember, I only pick on characters because I love them. ;)  
Lots more oddness to come, and quite a few more characters will be showing up.  
And please, review the story!  
(This version was moderately edited for language.)   
  
Until next time, Meow Meow Kitty says, "Meow Meow Kitty!"  



	5. Blame It on the Flowers

  


• Chapter 5 •   
• "Blame It on the Flowers" •

  
This chapter took me a long time to get around to. It's been up on my site for a while, but I was seriously considering not putting it up on FF.net.. There was an unfortunate incident in which my humble fic was brutally plagiarized (I know, who'd believe anyone even _read_ it in the first place?) for the sake of a cosplay skit...and I was entirely miffed. Regardless, I'll never get any better at writing if I don't get some feedback from readers, and I don't get any exposure on my own page, so I may as well throw it up here. (In the feeble hope that I'll actually get feedback here, instead.)  
Since I was slacking, I made it a long chapter. And so for once, I shall cut to the chase. . .  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Once again, Guitar was on his way toward "Room Tulip." Toward_ destiny_.  
  
A quick glance to a clock hanging from the wall revealed that it was nearly time for his meeting to start. Determined not to be distracted any more, the Warrior King trotted down the hall, scanning the names printed on doors. "Gardenia," "Dahlia," and "Pansy" went by, and a number of others. So hurried he was, he nearly passed his room when it finally came along.  
  
'_At last. . . I was starting to wonder if I would ever find this accursed place_.' He carefully opened the door, taking a quick glance inside before entering. The room was decked out in full pastel glory, much like the other rooms he'd seen. Also familiar was the figure seated at the front of the room. Somehow, he wasn't especially surprised to see the pale, emotionless face and flat red eyes.  
  
"We were just getting started. I take it you are Mr. Guitar, is that correct?" The girl peered at him from beneath a stray strand of light blue hair, pulling a clipboard to her lap. She didn't wait for an answer before scribbling a checkmark and time beside his name.  
  
"My apologies, ma'am. I had a bit of trouble finding the room. The employees weren't especially helpful in giving directions. I do hope my delay has not caused you any trouble." Guitar wheedled that wheedle that he did so well, tipped his helmet to the counselor, then turned to find an available spot.  
  
The others were already seated. To the counselor's right was a man in black pants and sleeveless grey shirt. He wore a silver helmet and mask; matching silver bracers with dangerous-looking spikes covered his forearms. Beside him was an immense man dressed in clothes which must once have been white, but stained and torn as though they'd not seen a good washing for some time. This one was seated on a sturdy stool, with a broken chair discarded immediately behind him. He kept glancing to the much smaller man at his side. The two conversed in hushed tones; the smaller man paused to glance at Guitar, adjusting dark sunglasses and tipping back his wide-brimmed hat to get a better view of the Mazoku. An empty seat parted these two from the next member.   
  
Guitar carefully moved this chair aside and took its place, seating his lower half on the floor. The short man on his left flashed a nervous smile before scooting closer to his big friend. Guitar turned to his right, where was seated an unusual alien-looking creature with skin of purest white, decorated by shiny purple spots on the top of his head, chest, elbows, and shins. He (Guitar assumed it was male; it wasn't wearing any clothes, but he couldn't see any sign of gender--not that he planned on looking too closely, that would hardly be polite on the first meeting) wore lipstick of a shade that matched his spots.   
  
The demonic swordsman realized he wasn't in much position to judge others on their normalcy, and so instead turned his eyes onward to the last member of the group. The final creature was huddled onto its chair, beady eyes directed toward the floor. It appeared to be some sort of animal, perhaps canine or rodent. It was fluffy and white, with pink ruffs around its neck, and a long plumed tail which made rapid, nervous arcs across the back of its seat.  
  
"All of you are gathered here in order to be reformed from your criminal pasts. It is my mission to help you all to supress and overcome any evil urges you may experience, and to see to it that you all become good, productive members of society." The girl glanced to each of the beings surrounding her. "This may take much time and work for all of us, but we shall succeed."   
  
The large man shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and whispered something to the smaller fellow.   
  
"Is there something you would like to share with the group?"  
  
"Uh...n-no, lady. Uh...ma'am. Yeah. I mean...no." The big man stammered, his voice deep and speech slow. The smaller man beside him shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. Although certain he'd never met the pair, he could not help but find them eerily familiar.  
  
"I have a few activities planned for the night, but first, I would like for you all to share a little bit about yourselves. That way, we can all get to know each other better." The counselor offered a false smile. "Tell us about yourselves and why you've decided to come here, and learn how to get beyond the dark pasts that have held you back from living normal, happy lives."   
  
The idea was met with mutterings, clearing of throats, and all eyes directed toward the floor, ceilings, or walls. Guitar was no exception, and carefully studied a bright row of tulips painted on the wall. They were right beside a few stick-children playing jump rope. Charming. Delightful. Repulsive. _But, still, better than having to go first -- keep staring at the wall. Staring at the wall . . .  
_  
"Why don't you go first?" The counselor's eyes bore into the unfortunate man at her right.  
  
"Uhh. . . M-me? Ah, well. . ." The man shifted uncomfortably, casting his eyes around at his fellows. "My name is Oroku Saki, and until recently, I've been living a life of crime. It was very unrewarding, and frequently painful. . ." He began to warm up as he noticed the collective nodding of heads. "I've come here so that I can learn how to be a productive member of society, and be a pizza chef. Pizza cook? What do they call them, anyway?"  
  
"Chef, I think," offered the short man in sunglasses.  
  
"They get to wear those hats, don't they? They must be chefs." The big man grinned at his own perceived cleverness, while his little friend shrugged helplessly.  
  
"Yes, well, I want to be one of those. And be a good guy. Really. I love turtles." The armoured chap nodded eagerly. "Seeing as how I want very much to be good, I'll pass by the end of the night, right? I won't need to come back again, yes?"  
  
The counselor smiled condescendingly, and turned to the large fellow beside Saki. "Shall we continue?"  
  
"Uh...m'name's Chang, and I'm here because Kim told me I should come. He says he's gonna turn us into good guys. Warriors of justice, or somethin' like that. I used 'ta be a criminal, like. Robbed people, and things like that. Got locked up in the slammer for a while, but I got out. That's when I met Choi." The huge man nodded to his diminutive friend. "And Kim, too. Uh...I said he's tryin' to reform us, right?" A nod from Choi prompted him to continue. "And. . . and. . .Kim. Enrolled us. Yeah. . ."  
  
Choi cleared his throat and continued, "Kim's got us in training. He's a really. . .nice guy." More clearing of throat, and a flinch. "He's been working with us for a few years now, but doesn't think we're quite reformed yet. He got a brochure for this program in the mail, and thought it might help us to seek some outside help in addition to training with him and Jhun. We were, of course, very eager to comply." He flashed a toothy grin, then waved his hand to Guitar.  
  
Guitar matched the man's toothiness in smiling, and turned his attention to the counselor. The truth was most certainly right out. The best results would be achieved by telling her what she wanted to hear. Luckily, that was right up Guitar's alley.  
  
"Due to unfortunate circumstances of birth, I was placed into a life of crime and villainy. . . Long did I commit great crimes, yet I suffered as greatly as did my victims." He shook his head mournfully, eyes cast downard. "As such, when I found myself presented with the opportunity to better myself, and escape that life, I was quick to take it." The swordsman nodded his head to the blue-haired lass. "It is that which brings me into your care, dear lady. I am eager to recieve your teachings, and to go out into the world once more, a new being."  
  
The counselor nodded appreciatively, and Guitar managed his best smile. He was pleased to note the glances from his comrades: astonished, disbelieving, and more than a little envious of his ability for point-blank lies. Whether the counselor was fooled, he did not know, but he found it rather obvious that the three who had spoken were all in a similar situation to himself. Hardly desiring to be reformed, but putting up with the session long enough to get a clear bill of mental 'goodness.'  
  
The floor shifted onward to the creature to Guitar's side. "Like the others, I once led a life in the vein of evil. Murder, genocide, destruction of planets. The usual sorts." The creature shrugged nonchalantly and waved a hand to the crowd, garnering understanding nods. "I suffered through a few unfortunate events, and eventually had an awakening. I have decided it is time for a new way of life. I hope to be a kabuki dancer." This last line giggled softly and with obvious glee. Guitar got the strange feeling that of all that had spoken, this one was actually telling the _truth_.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Freeza. I'm glad to hear you have plans for your new life, as well. That just leaves you, Mr. . ." The counselor glanced down to her clipboard. "I don't seem to have a name for you."  
  
"Oh, I . . .I don't really have a name. That's all right." The nervous creature on the far end spoke in a small, tinny voice. Its eyes darted nervously across the collected villains, and its tail swished ever faster. "I was. . .well, I was just a normal, wandering monster. My parents worked really hard to give me a chance at a better life, and when one of the neighbors heard about this place, my parents thought it would be my best chance to get away from the life the rest of my people have always led. I don't really have any plans, just yet." The creature gulped and sank farther into its seat, eyes locked onto the counselor.  
  
"How come you don't have a name? What're we supposed to call ya?" The big man leaned forward on his stool, staring at the beast, then raising his hand as an afterthought.  
  
"Um. Uh. Well. Erm. I don't know. No one ever really called me anything."  
  
"Well, what are you?" The chrome-plated ninja stepped into the line of questioning as well.  
  
"Oh, it's so confusing. I think they used to call us Ice Mongrels, or Ice Pups, or something like that. They changed it, though. I don't really know why. I, um, think they're calling us Shiro Mongrels, these days. But. . .that's not really a name."  
  
"We could always name you. I'm certain we could come up with something." Freeza clapped his hands in delight as he started contemplating the proper moniker.  
  
"Oh, that's really not necessary. Really. . ." The Mongrel's steady increase in agitation was mirrored by the accelerated whipping of its plumed tail.  
  
"We can call 'im 'Shiro'. Or, uh...'Mongrel.'" Chang nodded emphatically.  
  
"Feh. I'm sure it took you a great deal of work to come up with something so creative." The masked man to Chang's left rolled his eyes.  
  
"Well, uh. . .Hey, are you insultin' me?!" The heap of man rose to his feet, his bulk even more impressive when accompanied by his height. Guitar couldn't help but smile to himself -- he'd wondered how long it would take for this session to evolve into a fight. They'd managed to get to it more quickly than he'd imagined. Violence was, he supposed, inevitable when one forces a group of ne'erdowells into a room with a flower motif.  
  
The muscular ninja rose to the challenge, and a distinctly unimpressive shouting match ensued, the likes of which one could probably find at a playground on a slow day. Guitar glanced over to Choi, curious to see if the small man would be participating in defense of his companion. The diminutive fellow seemed rather busy burying his face in his hat and shrinking down in his chair, however, and so it went to the counselor to intervene.  
  
"Gentlemen, there's no reason for you to get angry. Why don't you sit back down, and we can all discuss this. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. We're here to overcome these feelings, not give in to them." Her voice cold and even, she waved them back to their chairs. The pair continued hurling insults, not noticing the seated girl.  
  
"Yeah, blender-boy, you wanna make somethin' of it? I'll squash you like a bug!"  
  
"If you think you can get your pudgy posterior close enough to try it, you're more than welcome to make the attempt!"  
  
"Now, now, you two. I'll not have you disturbing this session. I didn't come here to hear a pair of children quibbling." Freeza was on his feet, now, shaking a finger at the others. The two turned, as if to engage this intruder upon their verbal duel, but a rather painful-looking ball of energy in the creature's hand gave them pause enough for the effeminate alien to continue. "Sit yourselves back down and behave, or I'll blow you both up, along with the planets you came from."  
  
The pair considered the words for a moment, and no more than a moment; Freeza's expression and words were most convincing. Chang quickly plopped his bulk into the nearest seat. Saki followed suit.  
  
"E-eeek! L-look!" The Shiro Mongrel raised a furry paw to the front of the room, all eyes following shortly behind.  
  
"W-what? I didn't mean to!" Saki quickly jumped up from Chang's lap and moved back to his own seat. Regardless, the Mongrel's terrified expression went unchanged, and his eyes remained locked onto Chang.   
  
"That's. . . the counselor's seat." In moments, the implications of this statement sank into all but the thickest of skulls, Chang himself.  
  
"She was still sitting there, wasn't she?" Choi looked aghast.  
  
With a grunt, Chang rose from the seat, and looked beneath him. No sign of the counselor remained, save for a broken clipboard and a few stray blue hairs.  
  
"Oh, no. Oh, dear. Oh. . . . this is t-terrible." The Shiro Mongrel crawled miserably beneath his seat. All other eyes remained focused on the clipboard-remains of their counselor.  
  


~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

  
  
Our dramatic conclusion inches ever closer! Stay tuned; the next chapter, is well on its way toward completion! And yes, I realize how completely inane the ending is. It's intentional. Sort of. ^_^;;   
As always comments/critiques/support are always appreciated; boredom has brought about many ideas for sequels and future stories, so I really would like to know if I should continue. ^_^;; Should I continue? I hate to beg, but...yep, I'm begging. Feedback, please. ^_^;; I really do want to know what people think, whether it be positive, negative, or just a string of random gibberish.  
And so, until the next time we meet: I bid you, eat some fruit. Mmm, fruit. 


End file.
